Seven Sons
by Ithiliel Silverquill
Summary: A drabble cycle, consisting of one drabble for each of the seven sons of Fëanor.
1. Bereft

_**Seven Sons  
**__**By Ithiliel Silverquill**_

**Author's Note: **There will be seven drabbles in this cycle: one for each of the sons of Fëanor. These drabbles were not written for any challenge or meme, but just because I felt like I should write them. Enjoy!

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**Bereft**  
_(Maedhros)_

There is no tomb for you, Father. By the fire of your spirit your body fell to ashes. Here I sit, watching the ashes, cold in a world that is bereft of your flame.

Yet as I mourn, I sense in myself the same fire. Even as your father is dead, my father is dead. Even as your treasure is lost, all I treasured is lost.

I swear to you, O my father, that I will never lose this fire in my heart. It is my living memory of you, and in your name it will carry me to greatness.


	2. Silence

**Silence**  
_(Maglor)_

_"We discovered only the bodies of his men. Maedhros could not be found. I am sorry."_

Maglor swallowed hard and reached for his harp. Its rich, wooden firmness in his hands was a solace, and the thin strings called to him, begging him to draw music from them. But his mind was full of confusion and grief and fear. How could it be? How could he be gone?

_"Maedhros could not be found. I am sorry…"_

The harp fell from Maglor's limp hands and clattered to the floor. He could not play. The music was gone.

There was only silence.

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_Thank you to all my reviewers! I apologize if the format is overdone... frankly, I've never read a cycle that told the story from each son's perspective, but I could have just missed it. I appreciate constructive criticism! And my favorite drabble out of the seven is still to come, so don't lose hope. -Ithiliel_  



	3. Jewel

**Jewel **  
_(Celegorm)_

The woven cloak slipped away and fell to the forest floor. Celegorm felt his heart and breath still at the vision that was revealed beneath it: a lithe, lovely woman, dressed in the simplest of garments. She was Sindarin, that much was clear—but kissed with a light of divinity that breathed into his mind a memory of the Silmarils. Pure light, innocent and undefiled... untouchable as the stars.

He _must_ have her. He had sworn to recover the Jewels, and here before him was revealed a living jewel.

He smiled. "You are welcome, my lady," he said. "Most welcome."

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_Thank you so much, reviewers! Your kindness is so encouraging! On the advice of a friend, I removed the nasty anonymous review. Thank you all for your support... I wouldn't dream of leaving this undone. -Ithiliel_  



	4. Iniquity

**Iniquity **  
_(Caranthir)_

The deep, dark lake of Helevorn stared back at Caranthir. No stars were reflected in its black waters. It seemed to be one with the night: formless and cold, altogether devoid of light.

Deep, dark eyes stared back at the waters of Helevorn, eyes that were once silver, but had burned to darkest black. There was no room for stars or tears in those eyes now, for they were full to brimming with hatred and anger.

He was only at peace on the banks of Lake Helevorn, cold and dark in the starless night that hid every scar of iniquity.

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_To my reviewers: thank you very much! I really am touched and amazed by how kind you all have been. I should be finished posting these before the week is out. Thank you all very much! -Ithiliel_


	5. Exile

**Exile**  
_(Curufin)_

"Come, Celebrimbor," said Curufin roughly, tying his tools in a leather satchel. "Nargothrond has exiled us. We must be off."

"No, Father."

"The sun will soon rise, and—" Curufin looked up. "What?"

The young man backed away from him, shaking his head. "You are cursed. I will not be made one of you."

"We are all cursed," he snapped, tossing the remainder of his tools in the satchel. "Exile me yourself, then, and cower at Orodreth's feet."

Curufin stormed from the room in guarded fury, but Celebrimbor caught a glance of more than anger in his father's glinting eyes.

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_Thank you to all my kind reviewers! This cycle is almost finished, but I'll keep drabbling even after it's done. -Ithiliel_


	6. Defender

**Defender **  
_(Amrod)_

Amrod stood over the fallen form of his twin, staring down the circle of Sirion's defenders. They were frightened of him... frightened of the feral, empty wish for death written in his eyes.

He did not move from his stance, though any trainer could have told him that his position was dangerous. The merciful arrow that pierced his throat was inevitable.

And so he fell, tawny hair spilling over the pale face of his twin, lifeless body sprawled over its own likeness. Amras was not touched. Even in death, Amrod faithfully guarded what meant more to him than any Silmaril.

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_Thank you so much, reviewers! I'm so glad that you like these drabbles... they've been a joy to write. Even if they are all tragic, of course... -Ithiliel_


	7. Grace

**Grace**  
_(Amras)_

We were hunters, my brother and I. In the dawn of our lives we hunted with Oromë in Valinor, and then we hunted the Silmarils that were taken from us. Nothing that we pursued could long outrun us, but still we were driven, filled with insatiable longing we did not understand.

Now we dwell together in the halls of Mandos. We have no Silmarils, but nor do we have eyes to see light, or hands to be burned. In merciful Námo's grace there is peace, sweeter than we could have ever found ourselves.

We search no longer. We are free.

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_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed from the beginning of this cycle to the end! It's been a lot of fun to do this, and I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have. -Ithiliel_  



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